


From the Last to the First

by darkesky



Series: Sickness at Garreg Mach [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mentioned Blue Lions Students (Fire Emblem), Nightmares, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:35:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22214173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkesky/pseuds/darkesky
Summary: Dimitri nodded at long last. “Then this week, we shall rest… I doubt the Golden Deer or the Black Eagles have figured out the importance of rest in war. But if we are to rest this week, I trust your honesty. If you feel unwell, even slightly, read tactic books in your room if you want to train. And if you feel well, feel free to train.”And Sylvain knew, without looking, Felix would go to the training yard anyway. He should follow. He should take care of him, just like his parents wanted him to. He was the Gautier heir (because of one measly Crest, the same Crest which led to the death of him).Sylvain might be taking the day to rest, but he didn’t trust his head not to conjure the same dark fantasies which have plagued him all day.---Sylvain is not as over Miklan as he thought.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Sylvain Jose Gautier & Miklan
Series: Sickness at Garreg Mach [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599064
Comments: 2
Kudos: 61





	From the Last to the First

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Sylvain has a lot of dark memories/dreams in this, and they get a little intense. And there is a mentioned one night stand and vomiting.

_ A red light was all the warning he got. It cast shadows across the room, contorting even his shape into one of a beast’s. Then, something exploded in his hand, leaving thick slime over his arm. It pulsed where it touched his skin, and he felt his skin start to bubble, pop, and melt. Agony ripped through him, and he opened his mouth to scream… _

_ No words came out.  _

_ As he stared down at the substance, it hardened into a thick shell over his skin. Red streaks tore through the surface. It looked like blood, it looked like fire, it looked like  _ him.  _ The shell pressed upwards. Away went the flesh on his elbows, on his shoulders. Away went the fabric of his uniform with a sizzle, and the pain beat like a drum in his temples. He couldn’t move, though, and he couldn’t breathe. _

_ Something cracked, the bones underneath the cast bending and changing. The drum grew into a ceaseless roaring, and finally, he could move. He started to fall forward to his knees, thudding against a bubble of crimson.  _

_ A flash of lightning struck across the room, and he lifted his head in time to see a soldier stalk forward.  _

_ No… Not a soldier. A friend. _

Felix.

_ He donned his armor, and his hair fell out of the bun he kept it in. The light from the storm outside showed the way his face contorted into a fierce scowl. Recognition pierced through his eyes, shaped by the malice and anger behind it. With one fluid movement, Felix unsheathed his sword and it gleamed from the lightning. Something savage started a siren’s song in his ears. _

“No more crest-bearing fools,”  _ it whispered in its melody,  _ “if you strike him down.”

_ “Beast,” growled Felix. Something sharp glimmered in his eyes as he took one step closer, closer. He wasn’t backing down even as more of his bones cracked and shattered. The substance started to push against him, sweeping down his knees and his legs until everything burned with the red-hot pain. But the substance hovered at his neck, debating whether to consume his face.  _

_ It meant he could watch with his own eyes as Felix struck him down. _

Please,  _ he would have shouted. But when he opened his mouth, a roar struck against the walls of the tower. This time, as he fell forward, he landed on what used to be his arms… But the shell had hardened into something else. It was skin; it was  _ him.  _ Now, only the beast remained with no remains of the boy he used to be despite the screams echoing in his skull. He was an animal… He was a beast. _

_ Felix raised his sword and charged forward. _

_ And as the sword struck against his neck, the world exploded into darkness, and the savage song twisted for the first time into a recognizable voice. The same voice which bounced off the stones of the well, the same voice which disappeared over the snowy plains, the same voice which swept across the blade pressed against his throat. The kindness tinged with bitterness, hiding the tightly-bound insanity. _

_ He wanted to scream, but the inhuman roar ripped out of his throat again. _

_ “This time,” Miklan whispered in his ears, “you won’t be the one left standing.” _

_ - _

Sylvain blinked his eyes open to get rid of the misty haze. He curled deeper into the blankets and pillows until the weight of the outside world faded away. If he got up now, he might let out a sob, and the walls were thin enough. He had  _ promised  _ them he wouldn’t deal with this on his own; he promised them he would go and get them if things got especially bad.

But this was bad for all the wrong reasons. He was a fool to have nightmares of the Lance of Ruin, sitting propped against his desk innocently. After all, Sylvain bore a Crest. And that Crest never failed to protect him.

_ (And he was a fool to mourn Miklan.) _

Pressing a hand against his face, he swallowed the sob threatening to escape. He  _ can’t  _ do this. Not right now. As the early light of dawn started to filter through his window, he knew it meant he needed to make his way down to the Blue Lions classroom. It might be their free day, but they just lost to the Golden Deer in a mock battle. Dimitri wanted to discuss that at length.

But the idea of getting dressed was more daunting than any battle. The idea of getting in front of the others and smiling and ignoring everything which went wrong… The idea of even picking  _ up  _ the Lance of Ruin. 

No, he can’t dwell on this. Sylvain breathed against his hand one last time before forcing himself to his feet on shaking legs. As he crossed his room, he felt the sharp cold seep through the walls. He pressed his fingers against the stone and closed his eyes.

_ (The well stretched so high, so far above him. He could only spot the glimmer of the sky when he craned his head. The water sat around his waist, and he couldn’t feel his toes anymore. He pressed his hand against the stone and opened his mouth, ready to call out, but…  _

_ But what if it was Miklan up there? What if he called out for help and he was answered with an arrow through his heart? What if…  _

_ No, it was better there. So he pressed his forehead against the stone and prayed and—) _

“Meeting’s going to start soon!” Ingrid’s voice rang out from outside his room, and he lifted his head off the stone wall. His whole body shuddered with the weight of the silence. “Are you awake, Sylvain?”

He didn’t trust his voice to come out cleanly. With a deep breath, he forced himself to yawn and call out in the middle of it. At least then, the trembling came from something else. “‘Course I am!”

“Of course you are,” she muttered. 

Sylvain rushed through the rest of his routine and pushed open his door. Ingrid stood against the railing, eyebrow cocked. Her eyes swept over his messy hair and the disheveled nature of his clothes. She rolled her eyes, unimpressed.

He offered a shrug and a messy smile. “Well, off to Dimitri we go.” 

“I thought you’d take this more seriously.” She huffed as the two of them started to walk around Garreg Mach. “We have a legacy to uphold.”

“That seems like a dramatic way to phrase it!” he chirped back. 

Shaking her head, Ingrid fixed her gaze in front of her. “The Blue Lions  _ don’t  _ lose.”

“But we keep losing,” he finished for her.

She snapped her head over to him. “We  _ kept  _ losing. This is going to be our week.” 

As the two of them finally reached the classroom, Sylvain tried to hide his sad smile. Ingrid marched up to Dimitri, probably to convey her plan to guarantee victory, and he went to slip in the seat next to— _ Felix raised his sword and charged— _ Mercedes.

She offered him a curious look. Annette hadn’t claimed her usual seat next to Mercedes, though, and Sylvain stretched out to try and maintain his reputation. Judging by the way curiosity twisted to mortification and her cheeks blared red, he knew he succeeded. “I’m glad I got the seat next to the  _ prettiest  _ girl.”

“You should save the prattle for a girl who might buy it,” she responded, fanning herself with her hand. When he laughed to himself, her own smile started to twitch on her face. “Are you avoiding the germs too?”

“The… Germs?” He furrowed his brow.

She nodded back towards his usual seat next to…  _ His usual seat.  _ “Felix, Ashe, and Annette appear to be falling ill. I think Garreg Mach might be getting sick. Did you see Claude after the battle yesterday?”

“I saw him  _ in  _ battle yesterday.” Sylvain’s lip twisted slightly. It was embarrassing to get bested by someone who clearly couldn’t aim for shit. At the end of the match, when Claude’s head lolled, he was too stunned to actually attack the other boy. Felix yelled at him for that… Felix had…

Mercedes cocked her head. “Are  _ you  _ feeling alright, Sylvain? Now that I think about it, you do seem a little paler than usual…”

“Right as rain.” He ventured a wink. “A little better now that you’re here though.”

She let out a peal of laughter, not buying it for a second. The door swung open as Annette rushed in, cheeks flushed and nose red, and she shook her head. “I don’t understand the stubbornness of the whole house. There is no shame in needing to take care of yourself; in fact, it might give us an edge.”

“An edge?”

Before she can respond, Dimitri cleared his throat and took his usual position in the front of the room. All voices quieted as he stared at all of them. “We need to change tactics. While I know all of us to be capable knights and fighters, training isn’t the push we need to better ourselves. We need to—” 

Ashe sneezed loudly before squeaking out an apology. Dimitri paused and studied him for a long moment before glancing around the room. Ashe and Annette both possessed red noses, but as Ashe folded in on himself with his shoulders shaking from an invisible cold, Annette kept herself upright and simply had to keep wiping at her nose. Felix slumped in his chair, his hair falling out around his face  _ (just like it did on the battlefield). _

“Perhaps,” Dimitri said after a second, “we need to take a week to recuperate.”

_ “What?” _ Felix’s head snapped up. “I know you barely have a brain in there, boar, but that’ll  _ hardly—” _

He broke out in a series of dry coughs. When he finished, Felix scowled and glowered at Dimitri as if the prince invoked the fit. Sylvain slid his eyes to his lap where his hands had started to tremble.  _ Stop,  _ he begged them.  _ Everything was fine. _

“Claude is getting sick,” Sylvain called out casually. Dimitri’s eyes darted to him, and a grateful started to pull at his lips. “If Claude’s sick, we have a chance of winning this week.”

“If every house is to get sick, it’d be for the best we rest this week,” Dedue added. “We’ll get the advantage by the end.”

The classroom settled into an uneasy silence, only broken by rough coughs or wet sniffles. Then, Dimitri nodded at long last. “Then this week, we shall rest… I doubt the Golden Deer or the Black Eagles have figured out the importance of rest in war. But if we are to rest this week, I trust your honesty. If you feel unwell, even slightly, read tactic books in your room if you want to train. And if you feel well, feel free to train.”

And Sylvain knew, without looking, Felix would go to the training yard anyway. He should follow. He should take care of him, just like his parents wanted him to. He was the Gautier heir  _ (because of one measly Crest, the same Crest which led to the death of  _ him). 

Sylvain might be taking the day to rest, but he didn’t trust his head not to conjure the same dark fantasies which have plagued him all day.

_ - _

Her name was Felicia  _ (and it was too close to get comfortable with, but he didn’t seek out comfort tonight. He sought out distraction). _

Her hair shone like Ingrid’s in the dim light of the tavern, and when she reached across the table to clutch at his hand, he heard the fantasy fall from her lips. She called him a fine young man, and the distance between them grew. He knew she was too old. He knew what the others would say. 

_ “Age is nothing but a number,”  _ she purred that night because age wasn’t the number she focused on. 

He smiled and spoke of wealth and adventures, and she gave him the greatest distraction possible.

-

“A day of rest, huh?” Ingrid stood, leaning against his door with her arms folded. By her foot, a book of tactics sat, waiting to be read. Judging by the pages bent awkwardly, she dropped it in her hurry to appear cool. 

Instead of raising an eyebrow and offering a shit-eating smirk, he licked his lips and tasted the lipstick, the alcohol. “I feel well-rested. And now, I’m off to rest some more.”

“We need you here, you know. You’re one of the few people who hasn’t gotten sick.” Ingrid didn’t move, planting her feet more firmly into the ground. When she lifted her chin in a derisive movement, he knew a lecture was soon to follow. About his  _ ‘escapes to town only to return a sullied man’  _ or something along those lines.

His patience just ran out. “Wasn’t the point of this week to take it easy?”

“Clearly, you could stand to take things more seriously.” She still didn’t budge. 

The alcohol still buzzed in his mouth, and when he offered a smirk, a dull ache gnawed at him. No matter what he said, she’d be disappointed bitterly in him. “Maybe, but I can barely stand right now. Can I go to sleep, my dear, fair Ingrid?”

“You’ve been changing lately… Staying out later, slacking off more…” Her voice drifted off, and something twisted in her eyes. The sharp edges smoothed over and offered no explanation, only a deep-seated sadness  _ waiting  _ to be called upon, to be asked, to be explained away. “Please, tell me what’s happening. I can’t begin to help you until you say something.”

_ (“Did you tell your other brats what happened?” Miklan asked, tracing a finger over a bruise. He pressed down too hard, again and again, and smiled when Sylvain flinched. Then, he tightened his grip on Sylvain’s shoulder. “How many of them are there? Three? Four? If they’re so loyal to you, maybe I should—” _

_ “Don’t!” Sylvain’s voice cracked. _

_ He paused and lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t what? You don’t even know what I’m going to say. Do you really think you’re  _ that  _ much better than me? That you can read my mind now? Or, wait, sorry, I forgot my mind is under your jurisdiction. After all, you’re the great heir to the Gautier mantle, aren’t you? The Chosen One?” _

_ “Just… Don’t hurt my friends.”  _

_ Miklan barked out a laugh. “They’re the ones on the warpath. The pretty one today… She told me she would tell everyone about the bruises on your back. Do you really need some girl’s protection? Are you really the great heir?” _

_ “Don’t hurt her,” he said again, ignoring the dryness starting to settle over his tongue. _

_ He looked up just in time to get hit across the face. And when his cheek bruised the following day, a brilliant display of purple for everyone to see, he smiled and said he tripped into the desk in his room… He must’ve hit it just right. _

_ Ingrid, Felix, and Dimitri couldn’t meet his eyes when he lied, and Sylvain reminded himself he needed to improve on that.) _

His cheek ached with the phantom pain, but he smiled through it. “I’ve always stayed out late, and I’ve always chased too many skirts… Remember when I flirted with your grandmother?”

It doesn’t even prompt a smile out of Ingrid. She let out a long breath. “Sylvain… Is this about Miklan?”

“Miklan,” he said as his heart clenched in his chest, “is dead.”

“It doesn’t mean you’ve… Recovered.” Her eyes flit away for a second, down the corridor. “Ashe isn’t over Lord Lonato’s death quite yet.”

He reigned in his temper. “Lord Lonato was a better man than my brother. Ingrid, please, I’m sure we will have time to speak of this tomorrow.”

“Sylvain…” Ingrid struggled to find the words, but she finally stepped aside. He flashed her a grateful smile as he pushed into his room, locking the door behind him. Then, he fell onto his bed and ignored the heat boiling from his body, the phantom touches and kisses from where Felicia cradled him. 

_ (“Show me your Crest,” she said quietly, her hand settled against his chest. She stared at him, but the light stopped short of her eyes. “Please?”) _

And he knew he wouldn’t be getting much sleep. Somehow, he built the will to get to his feet. Somehow, he stumbled over to his door. And somehow, he slumped back to the ground with his head leaning back against it.

Garreg Mach was different than home. It lacked the same chill in the air, the same cold which seeped through the hallways. Sylvain once told Felix he’d grow soft if they stayed too long at Garreg Mach; after all, both of them still had responsibilities to their homeland. Felix simply shrugged it off.

Felix…

Sylvain wiped at his eyes and continued staring at the opposing wall. 

-

_ He heard it before he saw it, and the floor started to warp beneath his feet. It sunk and discolored, turning from the cold marble to a black floor with red splashed all across it. When he tried to take a step, he could hear something again. A flurry of footsteps, but as he turned his head, the hallway started stretching farther and farther.  _

_ Taking a step forward, something entwined around his ankle and pulled him back. It started yanking him back until his balance disappeared entirely from him. As he fell forward, his hands dragging through the red splotches until bloody streaks remained, something pounded against his chest in a furious rhythm. He gagged, and a gush of black and red fell out of his mouth. It landed on his hands, and his skin started to bubble beneath the blood. _

_ When he tried to scream, nothing came out. _

_ The footsteps pounded from the hallway, echoing and spreading out. This time, though, they didn’t flee. They started to grow louder and louder, and his eyes swept through the shadows. All of them could hold monsters; all of them  _ held  _ monsters. But when he kept looking closer, nothing popped out to him.  _

_ Then, something traced a line down his back, and he tried to scream again. A weight settled between his shoulder blades. “And I thought you could protect them.” _

_ Another footstep. _

_ “Didn’t you make me a promise?”  _

_ An image crept into his view, distorting the change of the world. In the center, right in front of him, he saw the outline of a tombstone. He saw wilting flowers, hand shaking and knuckles turning white, and he heard the uttered promise… The uttered apology. He could recite the words, but instead, the vision flashed as a streak of lightning illuminated the figure of his past self.  _

_ “I’m sorry, Glenn…” His past self stooped to the ground, pressing the flowers into the dirt. “I’ll protect them for you. I promise. All… All of them.” _

_ Another footstep. _

_ “And you didn’t,” hissed Glenn.  _

_ And along the walls, he suddenly found the monsters lying in wait. Yet, while they bore the same shapes Miklan took when he transformed, they still bore small bits of humanity. A hint of a golden braid, piercing blue eyes, a small scar beneath an elbow from desperately clashing swords.  _

_ He gagged again, and more bile came up. This time, over the remains of his hands— _ he couldn’t feel his hands anymore— _ it started to form a hardened crust again. He remembered this, he remembered the pain.  _

_ Another footstep. _

_ And then, he emerged into the light, exactly how he remembered him. Taller, bigger,  _ better.  _ As he lowered himself to the ground, he reached out his hand to grasp his chin. He watched as the tears sunk into his brother’s fingers. _

_ Miklan smiled. “You can have my fate.” _

_ - _

As he gasped awake, he rolled onto his side and started heaving. Keeping his eyes shut, Sylvain made sure not to look at its contents. He couldn’t guarantee seeing any red, any black wouldn’t send him spiraling straight back into the nightmare still remaining in his head. Even as he tried to shake his head free of it, it only brought more nausea and churned his stomach.

So, he turned back to lay on his back, pressing his hands against his stomach. When he moved his leg to the right, his shoe knocked against the bottom of his bed. Sylvain blinked. Had he really been drunk enough to pass out on the floor? Or had he really been so deeply in his distress he ignored the pain radiating from his back? He made the resolution last night not to fall asleep until he knew he wouldn’t dream.

He failed.

The world around him began to spin in lazy loops, and his stomach bucked again. Sylvain took a deep breath in an attempt to still the bile and pushed upwards. Wrapping his arms around his knees, he pressed his face into his thighs. He could breathe… He could still breathe. 

Then, something pounded behind him, and he inhaled too quickly. And then, he was exhaling all too fast and expelling whatever remained in his stomach. With each breath came a wet hiccup, and he whined from the pressure. 

And then, something came crashing down.  _ “Sylvain!” _

Someone picked their way until they were in front of him, and when he lifted his head, fear pierced through him. He scrambled backwards and stared down at his hands. Still intact. No bubbling. No sizzling.  _ NoacidnomonstersnoMiklan.  _ But in front of him…

“‘M sorry,” he managed to gasp out despite the weight starting to cut into his chest.

The figure cocked its head, an angry scowl on his face and dark hair fluffed around. “What the fuck are you on right now?”

When the figure reached out a hand, Sylvain tried to move farther back. All he ended up doing was slipping in something  _ (his own vomit)  _ and landing on his back. As he tried to get up again, he fell again. His hand reached up and wrapped into his hair, pulling. “‘M sorry. I… I tried, ‘m sorry!”

“Oh  _ fuck,  _ hey, you need to calm down.” But he didn’t try to get closer.

He pulled  _ harder.  _ Wake up, wake up,  _ wake up.  _ “Glenn, I…”

“Glenn…?” Suddenly, the figure was moving closer to him. Glenn’s  _ cold  _ fingers curled around his wrist, and he whimpered. As he tried to make another apology, he cleared his throat loud enough to make Sylvain flinch again. “Felix. It’s  _ Felix.  _ You woke me up… We’re at Garreg Mach, and you woke me up.”

“Felix…?” Sylvain blinked, and hot tears started to push at his tears. He… He left Felix in the hallway. He watched Felix turn into a monster, the Crest starting to corrupt him from the inside out. He… He just let Felix  _ die,  _ and this time around, he’d have to be the one to deliver the finishing blow. Last time Felix did it, last time Felix cut Miklan until he didn’t get up again, and this time, he’d have to.

Glenn gripped his wrists tighter.  _ “Sylvain.  _ What are you talking about?”

“Felix…” Lifting his head, he glanced into Glenn’s eyes before having to look away. His shoulders shook, and his stomach churned, and everything was too  _ cold,  _ but… “He’s gone.”

“I’m  _ right here,  _ you dumbass.” Suddenly, Glenn’s hand disappeared only to reappear underneath his armpits. “We’re going to the infirmary. Come on—”

“No, no, no, we  _ can’t.”  _ Because he knew who would be in the infirmary. He knew the Blue Lions would be lying in wait, waiting to ambush him with their questions. And Sylvain would have to admit it, admit that he failed them, failed  _ Felix and Ingrid and Dimitri…  _ And Dimitri was the  _ prince.  _ So he failed everyone in his kingdom—Or, he guessed, it wasn’t  _ his  _ kingdom anymore. If it was, he wouldn’t have hurt everyone like that.

But even as he struggled, he got tossed and moved like he was  _ nothing.  _ “You’re… You’re starting to freak me out. We’re  _ going.” _

-

“You’re also not feeling well; you need to rest.” 

Felix rubbed a hand over his face, and he still felt the heat radiating from Sylvain’s body. “It’s kind of you to show an interest in something other than bloodshed.”

“He’ll still be here when you come back.” Dimitri hovered in the doorway, obviously uncomfortable. He made a point to avoid making any contact with Sylvain’s body, still lying underneath the sheets. Felix still kept one hand in Sylvain’s because the other boy grabbed it right before Manuela sedated him. 

_ (He would never forget the raw panic on Sylvain’s face as he struggled and lashed out, eyes fuzzy and unfocused and puke dripping from where he clutched his hair. And when Sylvain slurred out his brother’s name, begging for forgiveness and insisting the brothers had changed fate, that Felix himself was dead… _

_ Felix couldn’t leave until he saw Sylvain wake up and recognize him. He didn’t want him to wake up and still believe Felix to be dead in his feverish state.) _

He shook his head. “You gave us the week off, unless you want me to go somewhere.”

“No, of course not, just…” Dimitri sighed before sitting on the opposite side of Sylvain. “I’m starting to get worried.” 

“About Sylvain?” He found himself squeezing Sylvain’s hand tighter and tighter in the conversation. Felix went to extract his hand from Sylvain’s before pausing… It wasn’t as if the other boy would remember it when he woke up. He could always take reassurance in that.

Dimitri’s eyes went unfocused, staring past Sylvain. “No, about… This seems worse than usual. Sylvain hadn’t even appeared sick, and yet, here we sit at his sickbed. Claude refuses to acknowledge his sickness, but I’ve seen no sign of improvement. I’m beginning to worry…”

The silence hung between them, much too thick, and Felix cleared his throat. “Out with it. I’m not here to play your games, and if that’s what you’re electing to do with your time, do it elsewhere.”

“I’m beginning to worry this isn’t such a simple… Illness.” 

Felix raised an eyebrow. “Do you think there’s something nefarious going around?”

“I think… Well, I guess the only thing for us to do is wait and see. Hopefully, this all proves to be wrong.” But as Dimitri got to his feet, obviously shaken by the idea something might have happened, Felix’s mind started to run in furious loops.

Because, perhaps, something  _ had  _ happened.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I intended for this to be a lot longer, but I also wanted to convey the suddenness in the sickness. Sylvain is lowkey one of my favorite characters because his dynamic is interesting with the other three of his childhood friends.


End file.
